Those Pressing Little Questions
by elvengirl9
Summary: You know those pressing little questions that bother you and never get answered? Well, here's your chance to find the answers! A series of one-shot fics. Find hilarious answers to some questions you've been dying to know!
1. Promises, Promises

**Those Pressing Little Questions**

**Disclaimer:** Severus Snape, James Potter, and Sirius Black belong to J.K. Rowling. Everyone else is a figment of my imagination.

**Author's Note:** Presenting my very first humorous fanfiction! Well, actually, this is a series of one-shot fics. These answer the questions J.K. Rowling does not answer that we all want to know. The characters are not in character in these stories just for the sake of humor. It's just another style I'm trying. The question of the day- Why is Snape's hair so greasy? Don't tell me you haven't wondered this at least once! Now the answer is at last revealed!!

**1- Promises, Promises**

Why is Severus Snape's hair so greasy?

"Hello, children!" Mrs. Brice, the preschool teacher of the Mirkan School or Elementary Wizards and Witches. Mary, pureblood and blonde, marched in first, nose high in the air, followed by Nia, the only half-blood in the class. After her was Severus, the sullen, whining pureblood who hated anything that involved 'getting along' with other children. The last person to come in was Sarah, who greeted her teacher with a hug, tossing her braids behind her. Mrs. Brice smiled before she realized two children were missing.

"Has anyone seen-?" There was no need to ask as James Potter and Sirius Black walked in through the door, perfectly normal- except for the fact that they were covered in mud.

"Look at you!" Ms. Brice admonished. "Scourgify!" James and Sirius, also known as the Delinquent Duo, scowled as they became clean.

Mary shuddered as she saw the two mischief-makers. The only thing worse than sitting next to them was sitting next to the half-blood.

Sarah hoped the boys wouldn't come near her- they had cooties.

Severus smirked. The Delinquent Duo were in trouble again.

"Now," suggested Ms. Brice, "Why don't we sing the ABC's?"

Severus' frown deepened. There was nothing worse than having to sing that embarrassing song.

Mary stiffened. _She_ had learned the ABC's _years_ ago.

James and Sirius grinned- they had made up their own words to that song.

Mrs. Brice felt the pangs of a headache coming on. Maybe she should take that vacation to the Bahamas. Sun, waves, Sirius Black and James Potter far, far away...

Severus Snape's hand was in the air. "Yes, Severus?"

"I _refuse_ to sing that ridiculous song."

Snape wouldn't be in the Bahamas either...

"Ew!" There was a sudden outburst from Sarah. "He's got coo-ties," she sang as Sirius chased her around the room.

"Why don't we all take an early recess?" Mrs. Brice wearily asked, hoping for fifteen minutes of peace. The children raced outside. But, five minutes later...

"Mrs. Brice!" Severus came in, followed by James and Sirius.

"Yes?" Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"James and Sirius stole something from my bag," Severus said pompously.

"Did not!" protested Sirius.

"Did too!" countered Severus.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Mrs. Brice reached for her aspirin.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Why don't we hear both sides of the story?" asked Mrs. Brice finally. "Severus, what did James and Sirius steal from you?" Silence.

"Yes, Sevvy, what did we steal from you?" asked James in an unnatural high voice. Mrs. Brice glared at him.

"My... my lucky shampoo," said the small child. The Delinquent Duo broke into giggles. No point hearing their side of the story, then.

"I'm not washing my hair until I get if back!" said Severus, glaring because the author of the story had to give him something so stupid as a lucky shampoo, and then let James and Sirius steal it. James and Sirius exchanged a look.

"James, Sirius, give it back," said Mrs. Brice reprovingly.

"Sorry, but we can't," said James almost apologetically. "We lost it in the mud." Sure enough, there was mud on the two again. Sirius smirked, glad the author liked him to much to give him something so weird as a lucky shampoo.

There was a Severus tantrum coming on. "If you can't get it back, then... then.." the small child thought of the worst thing he could think of. "Then I'll never, never, NEVER wash my hair again!"

Mrs. Brice picked up the phone to call a substitute. There was a tropical island out there with her name on it. As for Snape... well, he'd wash his hair eventually...


	2. The Making Of Evil

**Those Pressing Little Questions**

**Disclaimer:** Lucius Malfoy is the only person in this fic who belongs to J.K. Rowling. And his personality was completely designed by me. So was the rest of the story, too!

**Author's Note:** Finally, updates! I have 5 more questions answered for you all! Please give me more ideas, though, because that's the only way you'll get more updates! Okay, this is funny (I thought it was, anyway,) but the ending is lame. Seriously. Read and review anyway, please!

**2- The Making of Evil**

Why is Lucius Malfoy so evil?

Lucius Malfoy was born peacefully on a sunny day in England. He had cute black eyes.

By the age of two, he was walking and talking. He had a pet rabbit named Fluffy.

At the age of four, Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was explained to him. The conversation went like this:

"It's the best wizarding school, and hopefully, the fool Dumbledore won't be headmaster much longer. Hufflepuff is one of the houses- they're all fools- and Ravenclaws can be pretty decent, but they're too soft. Gryffindors are stupid, and Slytherins are wonderful people you will associate with."

There was a pause as the four year-old digested this information. Then he asked, "Will there be bunnies there?"

By the age of five, he knew his favorite animal- a bunny. Lucius' father bought him a python, but Lucius didn't like it at all. His dislike increased when it ate Fluffy. Fluffy was buried, and Lucius mercifully let the python free into the wild, understanding that pythons ate bunnies, and Fluffy's death was a part of life.

When he was eight, Lucius was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. He replied, "A teacher, or maybe a circus owner. But I'll be happy with living on a farm and raising bunnies."

Mr. Malfoy was seething. Mrs. Malfoy was worried, for her son and for her furniture, because objects had a way of blowing up when Mr. Malfoy was angry.

There seemed to be no way to make Lucius evil. Mr. Malfoy had certainly tried- potions, charms, medicines, Dark Magic, ancient spiritual rituals, expert books (including Make-Your-Child-Evil-For-Dummies,) parental example, reading evil books to Lucius, close-to-death experiences, tribal remedies, dreamcatchers, totem poles, power infusions, making Lucius watch muggle TV shows directed at toddlers, and asking the magic cow, all of which seemed to be expensive and do absolutely nothing. Mr. Malfoy had even picked a star every night to wish on (it was cheaper.) Lucius was still docile, gentle, and kind, the exact opposite of what a Malfoy should be.

Lucius turned eleven, and received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Malfoy was frantic, expecially when Lucius started saying how nice Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors seemed.

Something had to be done- and fast.

Then Mrs. Malfoy's mother suggested something they hadn't tried yet- hypnotism. So five days before school started, Lucius was taken to see Madam Milara, supposedly the best wizard hypnotist around.

In no time at all, Lucius sat on a chair opposite Madam Milara. She took out a muggle yo-yo and lifted it to where it was right in front of Lucius' eyes.

"Watch the yo-y... I mean, magic pendulum, please," she said in a creaky voice that sounded more like a river than a voice. Sure, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy would be upset if they found out Lucius had been hypnotized by a yo-yo and not a magic pendulum, as tradition required, but what they didn'y know couldn't hurt them, and besides, magic pendulums were expensive these days. And you can't do tricks with a magic pendulum.

Lucius looked very dizzy by now as Madam Mirara swung the yo-yo back...

And forth...

. ...And back...

And forth...

. ...And back...

And forth...

"STOP!" cried all the annoyed readers who were currently reading.

"You are getting very sleepy," Madam Milara intoned, unable to resist using the cliché line that everyone seems to expect hypnotists to say.

"I am getting very sleepy," Lucius said, yawning.

"Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy," said Madam Milara, making her voice waver dramatically.

"Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy," repeated Lucius- why wasn't he falling asleep? This kid was hopeless.

"SHUT UP!" Madam Milara yelled, annoyed that Lucius was acting like a parrot before she hypnotized him to.

"Shut... up..." Lucius finally fell asleep. Madam Milara glared. He would pay for slighting the reputation of the famous, magnificent, beautiful Madam Milara. But right now, she'd get the job done.

"You are very evil," she whispered. Lucius was silent. Well, he was asleep. "Let the evilness sink in. You are the evilest of evil."

Now for revenge. What would he think he was... a cow- no, too noisy... a horse- no, that wouldn't wear off too easy... a duck...

Yes. That would do nicely. An 'unknown side-effect' of the hypnotism, that Lucius would have the voice of a duck. Revenge, and then she'd get even more money because she'd have to cure him. Milara liked money. The more, the better. Yes, he'd pay for angering her...

**Later...**

"'ee's an evil kid, 'ee is," Thom, assistant nurse at St. Mungo's told his wife. "pee-yure evil. Keeps givin' me these nasty looks, lahke the ones 'yoo see on the convic's in Azkaban. Strange, though. Never says anytin' but Quack. Boilin' mad, the lot of those Malfoys. Never says a word but quack..."


	3. Weasley Wizards' Wheezes and Weatherby

Those Pressing Little Questions 

**Disclaimer: **If any of this belonged to me, I'd be publishing something, and make a whole lot more money than I do now. Because I don't make any money, still being in school. Anyways, don't sue me, because I'm telling you now no one belongs to me and because I have no money.

**Author's Note:** Please don't hate me! I can't help it if my parents go on vacation and bring me with them, after all... Please review, all readers who have suddenly, mysteriously disappeared! And to anyone new, thanks so much for clicking on my humble fanfiction. I am deeply honored.

**3-The Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and Weatherby **

Why does Mr. Crouch call Percy "Weatherby?"

"So..."

"So what?" asked George, raising an eyebrow.

"So what's the weirdest, most random word you can think of?" Fred asked.

"I dunno," replied George. "I don't have this off the top of my head."

"Just as a test word, after all," said Fred casually. "How hard is it?"

"I'm blank. You think of something, if it's so easy," said George.

"Okay then," said Fred. "Wait... wait for it... Weatherby."

"Weatherby, huh?" asked George, amused. "The most random word you can think of is Weatherby?"

"Shush!" said Fred. "Actually, if it were up to the author she'd pick something like asdfpiugjkdx, except that it'd be impossible to say, and in case you haven't noticed, we're having a conversation here."

"Are we?" asked George.

"Well, can't you see the little quotation marks?" asked Fred.

"If asdfpiugjkdx is so impossible to say, how come we're saying it?" asked George.

Fred stared thoughtfully off into space. "No idea. Authors have such confusing ideas. Let's just stick to Weatherby. It's only a test, anyhow."

"Okay, Weatherby powder, then," said George, scribbling it down on a paper attatched to a clipboard charmed to make anyone but Fred or George think the writing on it was homework. Which, of course, it wasn't. "All we need is a test subject," George continued. "Which one of us'll walk around saying Weatherby all day? I mean, Mom'll definitely notice. We need to get away from the house, or test it on someone who'll never notice..." he trailed off into silence as footsteps sounded closer and closer. Fred draped a bedsheet over the incriminating items and got to the door just as someone hammered on it.

Percy was there, looking angry. "I am trying to _study_, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't make such an _abomidable_ racket!" he said.

"We didn't make a sound!" George retorted. "Sorry if His Royal Head Boyishness can't stand the silence!"

Percy huffed and slammed the door, leaving George and Fred staring at the door thoughtfully. It was one of the occasions where words were not needed.

"He wouldn't mind," remarked George.

"Not at all," smirked Fred. Test subject sighted.

"I have a very important job application today," said Percy pompously. Fred and George looked at each other. All the better. Ron and Ginny, as usual, ignored this comment completely. But Mrs. Weasley beamed. "My Percy's going to work in the ministry!" she said happily, adding another waffle to Percy's stack. Percy smiled his jaunty smile, delicately taking another bite of a waffle with sugar on it. Well, it looked like sugar. In truth, Fred had slipped the new Weatherby powder over the waffles. If he finished the waffle- and Percy was hungry- he'd be speaking only one word: Weatherby.

Name?

_Percy Weasley._

N.E.W.T's?

_Nine._

Prior Experience?

_Prefect and Head Boy at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Why do you believe you should get the joy bor Assistant to the Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation?

I believe I am very qualified for this job, and I am very supportive of having cooperation throughout the magical, and maybe even muggle world. I also respect Bartemius Crouch, head of the department of Magical Cooperation, and would be honored to be his assistant.

Percy ran his application answers through his mind. He'd be getting the job for sure. Percy smiled. He wasn't really sure why he was smiling, but figured the author wouldn't be writing that he smiled unless she wanted him to smile, so he smiled his best. Then a secretary knocked on the door. Percy opened the door, still smiling, though he was a bit disappointed. Didn't the author know better than to interrupt with a secretary knocking on the door? Didn't the author understand how important this was? Then the girl walked in and he changed his mind. The author probably had sent this beautiful girl to interrupt so Percy could impress her.

The secretary was also smiling, but she shuddered inwardly. This psycho with the insane smile- was Barty Crouch going to _hire _this guy? "Coffee?" she asked sweetly. "Mr..."

_Weasley,_ Percy thought. _ Percy Weasley. _"Weatherby," he said. "Weatherby Weatherby." _Weatherby?_ What was wrong with him? Had the author mis-typed Weasley or something? He went to correct himself, but all he said was, "Weatherby."

The secretary raised an eyebrow. This guy was scary. "Okay, Mr. Weatherby Weatherby Weatherby Weatherby. Coffee?"

Percy opened his mouth, thought better, closed his mouth and nodded. Of all the authors he was stuck with, it was the one that didn't know how to spell his name. What was with this Weatherby stuff anyway? Or... Percy shuddered at the thought, but it could happen... was the author in line with... _Fred and George?_ No, it was too impossible. Still...

The secretary left, but was quickly replaced by Bartemius Crouch himself. Percy straightened furiously. Of all the times! He'd have to give that author a talking-to!

"I thought you seemed like a very qualified person," said the man half-impatiently. "What was your name again?" Voldemort, a hundred miles away, yawned. He was a Dark Lord trying to take over the world! Why did he have to spend his time on trivial things like this? What was the world coming to? Maybe he should have made Wormtail put the Imperius Curse on Crouch. Except that then, Wormtail probably would have put the curse on himself. What was J.K. Rowling thinking, letting minor authors take charge? He wasn't even supposed to have put the Imperius Curse on Crouch yet! This was a whole two months more of boredly watching Barty Crouch! It was torture! Maybe Voldemort should have applied for one of the more minor positions, like the driver of the Knight Bus. But if he wasn't Dark Lord, who would?

The word came out before Percy could stop himself. "Weatherby." Inwardly, he cursed. Authors and brothers were messing up his job application! With his luck, an evil dark lord would probably start controlling Mr. Crouch.

Voldemort started for a second. _Weatherby? I thought it was... Persky, or something... What was Arthur Weasley doing when his son was named? Weatherby? _He smirked. He'd hire this guy just to call him something that stupid. Most people thought Voldemort had no sense of humor. Anyone saying that had been hexed in the next dimension, but they still thought it. Voldemort darkened. Insolent beings! He'd make them bow to him someday! But back to the task at hand.

"You're hired," Barty Crouch said, and Percy felt relief. The world wasn't completely in the throes of a mad author, anyway. Then his boss continued, "Weatherby."

Voldemort laughed, for the first time in... how long was it? A very long time, anyway. Who said there were no perks in being a dark lord trying to take over the world?


	4. It Runs In the Family

Those Pressing Little Questions 

**Disclaimer: **Lily, Harry, and James aren't mine. However, the fictional ancestors of the fictional characters in this book are mine.

**Author's Note:** I had weird ideas writing this, including an evil old hag cursing the potters, and Lily sneaking out of bed at night to rub Milana's Magical Mess-Forever in James and Harry's hair. Yeah, I was pretty bored. This idea actually worked out, but I don't think it's one of my funnier ones. I promise, though, that the next one will be very, very funny. Well, I think it is, anyway.

**4- It Runs In The Family**

Why do Harry and James have such messy hair?

"He's got your hair," sighed Lily.

"What's wrong with my hair?" protested James.

Lily looked at him seriously. "Well, all his life he's going to have messy, uncombable hair- at his birthday parties, at school, at his wedding. Doesn't that make you feel guilty in the least?"

"No," said James, looking as un-guilty as possible. "I like it. And it's not my fault."

"Says who?" asked Lily, flaring.

"Says my dad," said James, unperturbed.

"Your dad doesn't have messy hair," Lily puzzled.

"No, but he did do a few things he wasn't supposed to do as a kid."

"Like father, like son."

"Well, he did something with big consequences."

"And this pertains to the subject… how?"

James leaned back. "It's a long story."

* * *

"Christopher Potter! Answer me!"

Chris ignored the call from his mom as he quietly pushed the dusty box open. His mom would go over to his friend Robin's house to se if he was there if Chris didn't answer her calls. There, she'd probably talk with Robin's mom for _hours._

The words on the front of the box had no particular interest for the five year-old, except for the top five:

Brian Joren Potter- KEEP OUT 

The first three weren't really that interesting- all it told Chris that the box had belonged to the deceased Great-Uncle Brian. The last two were far more informative- Chris wasn't supposed to be in this box, and someone wanted him out. But that meant there was something good in there, didn't it?

"Great-Uncle Brian was a nutter fond of chocolate ice-cream with ketchup," Chris' mother had said when Chris had asked her about his Uncle Brian. "He went around telling people he was the Minister of Magic ever since he was twenty. He worked as a taxi driver, really- I'm not sure he knew how to drive, though. Anyway, when he was seventy-three, he won the Daily Prophet Prize Raffle. He bought a few things that same day- must have been pretty expensive, because he died two days later and didn't have a penny. No one else has ever done anything that weird in their life, and I don't want to see youâ€ Put that chocolate ice-cream and ketchup away, Chris!"

What did nutters buy with tons of money and not want others to see? Chris was about to find out.

The box was empty, except for some cloth that padded the bottom of the trunk. Drawing it out, Chris saw it shone silver. Chris gasped, throwing it over himself. Looking down, Chris saw nothing.

* * *

"So that's where your Invisibility Cloak came from!"

"Lils, I can't even tell a story without you interrupting."

"Ooops. Sorry. But that is your cloak, right?"

"Yeah."

"You won't ever let Harry roam around the school at night with that cloak, will you? He's already got your hair- he doesn't need your habits."

"Erm"

"James!"

"Um… of course, Lily dear. Anything you say." James hoped his crossed fingers weren't showing.

* * *

As Chris shut the door of the box, ready to sneak downstairs before his mother found him, the unseen words flared brightly.

_Ye who steals from this here box,_

_May be cursed with chicken pox._

_Hair so fine won't be so fair,_

_You'll be cursed with messy hair._

Christopher looked in astonishment the next time he passed a mirror- had his hair been that messy before? Turning his head to the side, he grinned. It looked pretty cool.

* * *

"_That's_ the end of your story?"

"What more is there to say? I'm telling you, the hair runs in the family."

Lily sighed. "Whatever."

She turned to Harry for a moment, then turned back to James, a suspicious look on her face. "James"

"Yes?" asked James, looking innocently at her.

"Your father's name wasn't Christopher. It was Benjamin."

James mock-sighed. "And it was such a good story, too."

Lily stared at him for one more second as she digested this information. Then James was running for his life as she furiously chased him. "James Potter! Get back here! You little-"

Harry's green eyes opened, wondering where everyone was. Unfortunately, he couldn't see anything, not even the empty ceiling above him, because his black hair was in his eyes and he couldn't get it out.


	5. Didn't See That Coming

**Disclaimer:** All Hogwarts characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's Note:** If you're dissatisfied with the answer-not-answer to the last question, I'm sorry. In truth, Harry and James were just born that way. The whole Christopher Potter story sounded too cheesy to me to actually be true. Besides, the last bit made it funnier. I think. Anyway, no, Trelawney and McGonagall couldn't go to school together. Mrs. Brice is still on unfortunately still on vacation in the Bahamas, and couldn't be here. (you know I'm just kidding, right?). No, actually, do you realize the age difference between them? It's just not possible. But I found a way to go around it... well, you'll see.

**5- Didn't See That Coming**

Why does Tralawney have those huge, thick glasses?

"Why did you hire her, Albus?"

"She'll be useful."

"Useful? She can't forsee what she'll be having for dinner, let alone anything important!"

"She will be needed in the time to come. Just try and get along with her, Minerva."

Minerva McGonagall sniffed. Sibyll, the egotistical, annoying new Divination teacher was impossible to "get along" with, in Minerva's case. Albus Dumbledore knew it too, from his slight chuckle.

"If you insist, Albus," sighed Minerva, shaking her head as she stepped from the office in a temper.

Get along with Sibyll indeed! What had Albus been thinking, hiring the mock-seer? Minerva briskly walked out the door and down the spiral steps, and as the gargoyle sprang back to its usual position, Minerva grimly thought that the only way Sibyll would "get along" with her is if she stayed up in her ridiculous tower forever. Just thinking about the room made Minerva stiffen. She'd filled it with flimsy cushions and inscense you could smell miles away. The position wasn't that good, either. Minerva's classroom was in the middle of the school. The Potions classroom was at one corner of the school, as low as you could get. Minerva wasn't too fond of the Potions Masters Hogwarts usually picked up- they were often heads of Slytherin house, and quite fitting for the title. Sibyll's classroom was at the opposite corner of the school, as high as the towers went. So Minerva was comfortably an equal distance from both, which miffed her somehow, though she didn't know which of the classrooms were worse.

All these thoughts about teachers had brought Minerva to the staffroom, which she opened- to find Sibyll Trelawney.

"Minerva!" she said in a watery, dramatic voice. "The fates are not with you, this day."

"How terrible for me," said Minerva dryly, hoping if she agreed, Sibyll would go away.

She didn't. "My dear, it is advisable for you to get a more detailed reading, so you can learn exactly what to avoid..."

"No, thanks," said Minerva, starting to get a headache.

"No, dear, you really should. Let's see, ooh, avoid the fourth classroom in the dungeons..."

The potions room? "Sibyll, I..."

"...And because of the unlikely position of Mercury, drowning may be inevitable..."

"Sibyll, I'm not going to drown!"

"... But you should be safe, provided you eat your vegetables. Hm... avoid chocolate, my dear Minerva..."

"Stop it! I don't need a reading!"

"... and I think someone close to you is ill. Gravely so. Send them chocolate, but do not touch it yourself, in case Venus comes to the sixth house before it is time..."

"Sibyll!"

"...Watch out for your dreams, Minerva, they bring bad tidings. And someone you dislike is in trouble."

Sibyll was going to be in trouble if she kept talking.

"... be careful, though- they're coming to get you."

"Who?" asked Minerva dryly. "No, wait, don't tell me."

Too late. "avoid hot things, cold things, silly things-"

"Silly things? Sibyll, really!"

"...red things, blue things, purple things, magic things..."

"Magic things! Come on, Sibyll, this is a school of magic, we practise magic, everything's magic!"

"- things with spots, things with stripes, things smaller that a breadbox..."

"Sibyll..." Minerva's tone was no longer condescending. It was dangerous.

"random things, things that adore silver, gold, pointy things, and avoid unicorns, centaurs, people with freckles, people with bushy hair, people with green eyes, people with long, purple hair and green faces, wands, turtles..."

"Sibyll. Please let me excuse myself."

"-that would be in your worst interests, Minerva- flowers, maps, and trees, just for good measure."

There was blessed silence. "That was... enlightening, Sibyll," said Minerva hastily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I-"

"Oh- I almost forgot! You must watch out for Christmas presents, pyramids, long periods of silence, parakeets, parrots asking for mysterious sums of money, suspicious characters with bumpy noses-"

"Sibyll."

"- trick-or-treaters in angel costumes-"

"Shut."

"-particularly large stuffed animals-"

"Up."

"-and, come to think of it, string isn't in your best interests either..."

Minerva weighed things. On the one hand, Sibyll was a colleague.

On the other, Minerva really, _really _wanted to hit her.

On the one hand, Dumbledore had said to get along.

"Sibyll. Stop."

"Ah- I knew you would say that, my dear, as the future revealed..."

"Sibyll!"

"Divine intervention, you see. Long have the race of Seers..."

On the other hand...

Minerva drew her hand back and punched Sibyll Trelawney in the face.

With a satisfied smile, she looked at the stunned would-be-professor. "Didn't see that coming?"

* * *

"I am sure you will all be very glad indeed to learn that Sibyll Trelawney, after her short stay in St. Mungo's due to a nasty fall in the staff room, is back." Dumbledore said amongst half-hearted clapping from the teachers. Sibyll herself stood by him, new, thick glasses painfully obvious to Minerva. Two thoughts simletaneously came unbidden- a guilty, _did I do that,_ and _she looks like an overgrown bug. _Not that Minerva would admit having that last thought. But her conscience was asking her to apologize, and the perfect moment was when Sibyll impetuously sat herself by Minerva.

"Um... Sibyll..." Minerva McGonagall whispered

"Don't worry," replied Sibyll quietly, almost glowing with pride and pleasure. "I'm not saying a word. The fates willed it, and just used you to carry out their will. I was _meant_ to have glasses. It was my _destiny!"_

Grinning insanely, Sibyll turned her attention to re-arranging her many bracelets. Minerva had the slightest sensation of satisfaction. _Does that mean Sibyll won't mind if I punch her again?_


	6. The Hair of the Matter

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, Nicholas Flamel, Albus Dumbledore, and the last name of every person mentioned in this article, don't belong to me. My heart breaks.

**Author's Note:** This is short, compared to some of the other stories, but I hope you still like it. Your suggestions for questions I should answer have all been very inspiring, though some of them leave me completely stumped and the obvious, boring answer in my head. Please try questions that don't have obvious answers. I mean, like really, really obvious ones. Though, you never know, I might use it. I'm trying to figure out which one I'll answer next... Please give me more, as I can't think of any myself.

**6- The Hair of the Matter**

Why doesn't Albus Dumbledore cut his hair?

Excerpt from an article from _The Daily Prophet, _Recent Productions section:

* * *

"The Traditional Centennial Magical Performance of the story of Merlin and King Arthur, performed every hundred years, barely escaped disaster by a hair... literally.

Upon the preview performance, to which several esteemed critics and family members of the performers were invited, Tom Skeeter was reportedly known to have protested vehemently upon the entrance of Merlin: "By Scott! His hair's too short!" Murmurs pierced the crowd: 'He's right...' 'What's Merlin without the hair?'

So much outrage was caused that the part of Merlin, previously played by Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Esteemed Member of the Wizgamot, known for the defeat of Grindewald in 1945), was emptied, and the director, Karl Diggory, was forced to set about to find someone with hair long enough for the part.

"Sure, it was a minor detail," says Diggory, "but people like to concentrate on the things that are wrong instead of the many that are right. It's the principle of the thing! I mean, if it's a play about the esteemed _Merlin,_ then why can't we get it right?" One must note, however, that he did not say anything of the matter until the night before.

Mick Flint, a spectator of the preview, says simply, "I'm glad someone kicked Dumbledore out of the play." He was later admitted to St. Mungo's after drinking an Aging Potion he had made himself to try and get the part of Merlin. The aging potion, after being inspected by several Ministry officials, was said to have a silver candle stick, five unicorn hares ("how was I supposed to know what kind of hair the book meant?" asks Flint), and the contents of his cuboard under the stairs. It has not yet been confirmed, but rumors have spread that Flint's one mistake was to not learn how to read before starting the potion.

Nicholas Flamel, alchemist and medical researcher, kindly agreed to replace Dumbledore, but not before telling reporters, "Skeeter is a finicky twit."

"I think this play simply shows," Mikara Snape confided just yesterday, "the lack of detail Diggle uses when not put under public pressure. This is where our tax money is going, when we should be stamping out vampires and werewolves!" Snape did not go to the play.

The play, however, was super, given 15.7 stars out of five by critics and Ministry officials. The only bad comment was from Tad Lawrence, who managed to tell us Daren Lockhart was an arrogant and awful King Arthur who smiled too much, before his wife came over and clouted him on the head with her handbag.

"E's 'ad too much to drink, 'ee 'as," she gruffly commented before dragging her husband off.

Dumbledore seems quite happy at the outcome of the show, but he did express his disappointment at not being Merlin.

"I was looking forward to this experience," he commented. "At being told my hair was too short, I admitted my hair was only 25 inches compared to Merlin's 50.72, but I'm still a bit miffed that critics had decided to be nit-picky about that particular point."

Rumors suggest Dumbledore is finding a way to cheer himself- they say he's not cutting his hair until the next centennial play, so he can be Merlin then. So, for our play, we give a hip-hip-hairay, and we wish Dumbledore good luck.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore looked fondly at the yellowed piece of parchment fondly, carefully placing it back under his pillow with one last pat. He set his pillow down and reached for his bedside table, pulling out the tape measure he kept there. He checked the length of his hair with the tape measure: 48.6 inches.

As he put the tape measure back, turned off his magical lamp and turned over, he absently muttered, "Thirty more years. Just thirty more years."

**Author's Note:** So... aren't you going to tell me what you liked? Because the little button in the right-bottom-corner of this page is begging you to click it. Can't you hear it? "Click me... Click me..."


	7. Long Term Effects

**DISCLAIMER!!:** EVERYTHING ISN'T MINE!! EXCEPT FOR THE FLOATING MICROPHONE, RANDOM PEOPLE IN THE CROWD, AND THE UNNAMED DEPARTMENT STORE WHICH SPEAKS IN ALL CAPITALS AND PUTS TWO EXCLAMATION POINTS AT THE END OF EVERY SENTENCE!!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE!!: **I'VE FINALLY UPDATED, AND HERE IS THE LATEST PRESSING LITTLE QUESTION!! I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT!! PLEASE REVIEW!!

Those Pressing Little Questions 

**7- Long-Term Effects**

Why does Ron Weasley hate maroon, but get a sweater and socks in it every year?

Molly Weasley was sick of blue. She was sick of red. She couldn't stand yellow. There was no possibility in green. And orange was completely out of the question.

There are disadvantages in having a large number of children. But where others might think the most pressing of these would be finding enough money to feed them all, or taking care of them all, Molly was facing a very different problem.

She had given birth to another baby boy, and, as usual, she was going to decorate everything of his in a color. Bill was orange, Charlie's room was completely yellow, Percy's was red, Fred was blue, and George was surrounded by green. Now the problem was that baby Ronald was color-less. What color could she give him?

Purple? _That looks awful on a boy._

White? _Too easy to stain._

Black? _How plain._

Aquamarine? _Too close to blue and green._

Brown? _That would never do._

Molly was out of colors. There were so many colors that just wouldn't work. Well, she wasn't getting anywhere worrying herself out at home. She would go shopping, and find a color that suited Ronald.

Putting Ronald in the very worn baby carriage, Molly Weasley used Floo Powder to travel to Cimmera's, a large department store. Blinking as the room came into view, Molly was left in a room with a green fire crackling merrily behind her and a roomful of confused customers ahead. Pushing her way through, she walked through the store, looking for the right department.

Wand care and repair_ (does the wand perform any better?)_... Building tools _(Oh, I'd better not let Arthur get over here)_... Pesticides and pet care _(They're selling dragon food?!)_... Household Accessories_ (Of course they're accessories, they can't sell houses here... oh, this is where they'll sell what I'm looking for.)_

Molly Weasley turned the baby carriage into the isle and passed the paint, picture frames, pillows, and oddly shaped rubber items you could place around your house. Getting to the cloth section, she stopped.

SALE!! SALE!! YOU CAN'T RESIST!! 

FROM EVERYONE'S FAVORITE DEPARTMENT STORE COMES THE BEST DEALS EVER!!

HERE WE HAVE WONDERFUL BOLTS OF MAROON CLOTH!! ISN'T THAT JUST THE BEST COLOR FOR HOME DECORATION?!! IN FACT, IF YOU CONTINUE, YOU'LL FIND EVERYTHING MAROON IS... 50 OFF!! WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY TO RE-DECORATE THE HOUSE!! SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!!

THIS AD IS HERE TO ADVERTISE THIS ONE-TIME SALE FROM EVERYONE'S FAVORITE DEPARTMENT STORE, THE ONE THAT ALWAYS USES ALL CAPITALS AND PUTS TWO EXCLAMATION POINTS AFTER EVERY SENTENCE!! EVERYTHING'S GOING FAST, SO BUY NOW!!

This very large ad was backed up by a floating microphone, which was reading the sign again and again with such enthusiasm that you could hear the double exclamation points after every remark.

"...IN FACT, IF YOU CONTINUE, YOU'LL FIND EVERYTHING MAROON IS... 50 OFF!!" called the microphone before turning to Molly. "DO YOU WANT SOMETHING?!!"

"Um..." said Molly, rubbing her ears. She looked at the maroon cloth. It was a nice color, not really close to anything else she'd picked. And it was cheap... "Can you show me what other items you have in this color?"

"OF COURSE!!" said the microphone. "WHY DON'T YOU COME THIS WAY, MADAM?!!" _Are those two exclamations even grammatically correct?_ wondered Molly. But, leaving her baby carriage by the very large ad, she followed the floating microphone.

Ronald Weasley looked at the ceiling without interest. It wasn't very interesting, after all, being all grey. Struggling, Ronald somehow made the baby seatbelt weaken its hold, until he could crawl out of the very uncomfortable position to look around. A very big W was right in front of him. Ronald reached out his little hands to try and pick at the paper.

No one watched him reach. Subsequently, no one saw him tumble out of the baby carriage.

Molly, on the other hand, was filling a shopping cart full of many things- maroon pillows, maroon wallpaper, maroon crib coverings, maroon comforters, maroon carpeting...

"Where's Ronald?" she asked distractedly.

"YOUR CHILD IS BY THE VERY LARGE AD ADVERTISING MAROON!!" the microphone advised.

Molly Weasley ran to the empty baby carriage and started to freak. Within seconds, the entire section was in turmoil.

"A lost child?"

"Oh, let's look for the kid. Can we, dad?"

"EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL!!"

"You could scar the kid for life, you know."

Ronald Weasley heard the noise and began to whimper. It was so loud... and there was all this maroon... too much maroon... Still, no one noticed the baby-shaped lump wrapped up in the large bolts of maroon cloth at the bottom of the maroon display.

"Ronald? Ronald, where are you?"

"Is that the kid's name? Ronald? Ronald! Ronald!"

"Sounds like that guy on Muggle TV- what's his last name again, McDonald?"

"Hey, kid! Ronald, or whatever! Where are you? Hey, how old is this child, anyway?"

"Um... maybe we should stop in a different section, mom. This one looks a little... packed."

Maroon... maroon... Ron couldn't take in anymore. A suddenly hushed department store heard the cries of a very distressed redheaded baby.

"Ronald? Oh, Ronald, my sweet, there you are!" cried Molly, hurriedly unwrapping Ron from the cloth. Ron cried harder, now being blind and unhappy.

"Is that the kid? In a bolt of cloth?"

"Hmmph. Let's get out of here."

"Excuse me, madam," said a man, tapping Molly on the shoulder. "I am a child psychologist, and I would like to inform you that the time your child has spent in the cloth may have adverse effects- allergies to maroon, for instance..."

"Psychologist?" asked Molly. "Psycho, more like it!" She returned to comforting baby Ron, who had finally stopped crying.

"Hmmph," said the psychologist grumpily. "See, Sparky?" he asked one of the voices in his head. "You try to help people, and this is what you get."

"Quite right," the child psychologist, being Sparky, answered himself.

The rest of the crowd backed away very slowly, and a few people from St. Mungo's began to inch closer.

"THANK GOODNESS YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR CHILD!!" said the microphone, momentarily forgotten. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO PURPOSE YOUR ITEMS, NOW?!!"

"What? Oh, sure," said Molly, distracted from Ron for a few seconds. Then she turned back to Ronald. "See, Ronald? Look at all the things Mommy's bought for you!"

Looking at the numerous maroon items, Ronald Weasley burst into tears.


End file.
